


Story for the grandchildren

by blackstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Cute, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Teacher Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstar/pseuds/blackstar
Summary: It was 17:12 when the outside door of the youth center opened. Stiles knew, because he always kept an eye on the clock (class started at 17:15 and he had to have time to herd the kids into their seats), but also because time stopped and lost all its significance exactly when that door opened. It was one of those moments you need to remember so that you can tell the tale to your eventual kids and grandchildren. The first look, which said it all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything not work-related in so long, this feels like such a relief! Also, I've been writing it mostly late and while tired, so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Working at the youth center was both the biggest treat and the most horrible torture of Stiles’ EVS. Four evenings every week he taught English together with a volunteer from Portugal, to a few Italian kids and teenagers, who widely varied in their desire to pay attention or participate (yet most leaned towards not-really-interested). The best part about the class was the preparations, honestly, because that got Stiles in hours-long research spirals of the best teaching methods, most useful and engaging games, interesting yet still approachable texts to read, or roundabout ways to present grammar (god forbid he said the word “grammar” to the kids, he was always met with loud groans and an anathema for the rest of the designated hour, because they really did NOT want to “study” – not unless it was in a flashy, game-like form).

This week had started off well enough, with nothing major to change from Monday to Tuesday, and the kids were enjoying the new game (while also missing the point of it entirely), so Stiles and Jose didn’t really have anything productive to discuss, aside from their normal chit-chat about the kids, the work, and the life in general. Jose was a very good discussion buddy – he was very talkative (people said even more than Stiles was, which he found ridiculous) and also smarter than most people Stiles knew, so most conversations were a pleasant surprise. He had also spent a semester in Krakow, and had picked up some expressions and words in Polish and he was not shy about practicing them and constantly asking about more words, sentence constructions, and grammar in Polish. Stiles felt particularly bad in those situations, because he didn’t exactly want to admit how little of his mother’s language he spoke, and how very little of the grammar he could not only practice, but also teach to a person in a very random manner.

It was 17:12 when the outside door of the youth center opened. Stiles knew, because he always kept an eye on the clock (class started at 17:15 and he had to have time to herd the kids into their seats), but also because time stopped and lost all its significance exactly when that door opened. It was one of those moments you need to remember so that you can tell the tale to your eventual kids and grandchildren. The first look, which said it all.

It wasn’t normal for someone to look like that. The first thing Stiles noticed was the general air of hotness, the perfect built for a human man, which was wrapped in clothes he could only describe as lewd. Okay, he could maybe also describe them as perfectly business-friendly clothes – really nice dark blue pants, a light blue shirt and a brown sleeveless vest on top of it – but they looked like they were made to be taken off with the way they stood on that man. And then Stiles zoomed in on his face, while the man was stepping in, headed towards Stiles, closer and closer--- he had such beautiful features. Piercing eyes, blue-green behind very sexy (very dorky) thick-rimmed glasses; a perfect (could he say cute?) nose; cheekbones you could cut yourself on; this amazing stubble of a beard, which looked completely evenly distributed, sharply formed where it had to end; and oh god, the lips, they made Stiles’ mouth water, he really wanted to stop the lips from moving by pressing his own to them right before--- what?

“Sorry, what?” He startled and blurted out in English instead of Italian – even though that was one of the few things he felt very confident saying in Italian now. The handsome man shut up and looked a little concerned – maybe Stiles looked disturbing and was just confirming it with his Americanness – but before he could apologize (in Italian this time) and start over, Stefano – one of the youth workers from the center – passed right by him and greeted the man, chatting quickly and leading him away into the office.

Stiles couldn’t really hear the man’s name over the rush of his own embarrassment, and he didn’t have the chance to say anything, but he did gape a lot. He could feel his mouth still standing open, even possibly drooling, when Jose came up behind him.

“So, two things. One: you’re 100% transparent and you act like a school girl with a crush, and two, it’s 17:15. We should start now.”

“But did you see him, though??” Stiles looked back at the (now closed) office door and sighed, pressing both palms to his face. “I looked like a complete idiot, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t even start to cover it. English time, come on.”

 

Stiles was in Milano for a total of 11 months thanks to a European Union programme for volunteer exchange, in which he could participate since he had dual citizenship (his mom had been not only Polish, but also a very persistent woman) and create for himself a gap year between university and “real life” (as if life had been fake so far). He enjoyed the change of pace, and he really tried getting the most out of it, filling his days with activities, trying his best to learn Italian, all while exploring the NGO sector in a very NGO-friendly environment.

He met new people every week, if not through work, then through his two roommates, who had many European friends that could just ‘pop in’ for a couple of days or a week, and slept at their tiny apartment. There was an insistent feeling of freedom, which showed in the fact that his biggest responsibility was making the content for the English course and in most other activities he could be interchanged with literally anyone without it making much of a difference. Those two things combined had made Stiles somehow more emotionally available, he felt, and he found himself being more easily attracted to people, an almost childlike honesty attached to those feelings.

He couldn’t stop looking to the office door now.

It had been 5 minutes since the lesson started, and the kids were playing the memory game, and Jose was translating for them and explaining for the hundredth time in these two days that it wasn’t a try-to-read-through-the-paper game but a memory game, to no avail. Stiles was beyond distracted, and he felt his face was still flushed, and his only thought was a prayer that this wasn’t the dad of one of the kids. He looked to Jose.

“You’re sure you haven’t seen him before? He’s not someone’s dad?” When they spoke English fast, it was almost cryptic to the children, so they sometimes used it as an incentive to them – learn better English and we won’t be able to gossip right in front of your faces.

“Stiles, he looks a little too put together to have a kid here, I think. Also, he wasn’t that hot.” It was true that they were close to the outskirts of Milano and the crowd here was mostly kids of poor or poor-ish families in the region and the hot, hot man was very well-dressed, almost too much for an environment in which the staff (and Stiles, and the other volunteers) all wore plaid shirts as official clothing and more often than not reverted to t-shirts with funny slogans.

“You don’t need to be gay to admit that he is the hottest man to walk this earth, Jose.” Stiles received a scoff in return and a pointed nod downwards at the game to which they were supposed to pay attention. Stiles caught a mistake then, and quickly slipped into teacher mode, explaining slowly the difference between past simple and past continuous in that particular sentence. Just as he was ending his explanation, the office door opened and the hot-like-hell man came out with Stefano by him, both of them waving a little when Stefano explained that these two volunteers were teaching English. Hot-like-hell man’s gaze lingered on Stiles (probably because Stiles was either stupidly grinning or stupidly gaping) and just before they went out of their line of sight, he smiled a very small smile.

A very small smile, which transformed his whole face and made it softer, kinder, more open, more inviting. A very small smile, which went right to Stiles’ heart and made it beat double time.

They went into the other room of the youth center.

“Holy shit.” Stiles said slowly, trying to catch his breath. One of the kids giggled and repeated with emphasis “HOLY SHIT!” and laughed some more, while the other joined in. Jose joined their laughing too, and play-punched Stiles’ arm.

“Come on, man, get a grip. Help Francesca with the next round, she’s falling behind.”

 

He saw Hot-like-hell man three times during the lesson, which was only thanks to his very flexible waist and pure creativity of finding the perfect angle between the crack of the door and the opposite wall. He stayed the whole time, though, which really hinted at him not being an overly concerned parent. Auditor? Someone from a different NGO here to exchange experience? Stiles’ porn dream come alive only to make him regret ever spending time looking at other people? Really, all of those were equally possible.

When the English lesson finally, blissfully, ended, Stiles nearly broke a leg trying to get to the other room, while still being inconspicuous. Hot-like-hell was sitting on a desk next to one of the older teens, both of them hunched over a book, his finger tracing a line and her gaze following along. Maybe he was a new volunteer? Just as he was making his roundabout way back, Hot-like-hell looked up and smiled again, putting his hand up as if in a wave without actually moving it. Stiles managed a smile back and quickly went back to the English room, heart hammering.

“So, is this what your type is? Older, kinda exhausted and looks like a teacher?”

“He didn’t look exhausted.”

“You know, like, not exactly exhausted, but a bit chewed up by life and… dejected? Like, I’m not saying he’s exhausted from life, just he doesn’t have the youthful joy for life we do.” Stiles squinted, disbelieving.

“He actually looks like the opposite of exhausted. Very well-rested. Serene.”

“Dude looked like he half wanted to kill someone, he even glowered!”

“Well, he smiled to me. TWICE!” Stiles grinned. He sat back down to his chair and helped Jose get all the materials back into their rightful place. They spent some time talking about how the lesson had gone and the homework no one had actually done, but Stiles honestly couldn’t focus.

“Stiles, Jose!” one of the youth workers, a beautiful young woman called Sylvia, yelled from the office. The two of them went, bringing along the game materials, which could stay in the office instead of being carried around to Stiles’ place and then back again tomorrow. Sylvia smiled at them from her chair. “We have a new volunteer!” Stiles felt the little smitten schoolgirl in him faint a little. “I’m so happy, we really needed some more people! He’s going to be here on Tuesdays, so make sure you introduce yourselves. And be nice!”

Stiles definitely didn’t need to be asked twice about that. He felt himself tingle in anticipation, trying to figure out what he’s going to say and planning out sentences in Italian.

“Also, I want you to run to the office three blocks from here to give them these documents before they close today. Please, because it’s important.”

Stiles didn’t even think about it, the two of them with Jose like a well-oiled machine took the documents, walked and chatted the three blocks there and back, left the documents, and the whole time more in the front than the back of his mind, was the new volunteer, and his wonderful smile, and his beautiful eyes. By the time they came back, though, he and all the kids had already left, and the youth center was about to close for the night.

“You’ll see him next week, man, don’t look so devastated.” Jose laughed. “I asked Sylvia when I was getting my things, she said he’s a lawyer.”

Stiles sighed, feeling dreamy, painting Hot-like-hell in his head behind a big desk, with a phone in his hand, discussing life-changing things in a serious tone.

“And…” Jose stopped and grinned. “What do I get if I tell you what his name is?”

“Pizza on me for dinner!” He shot out without hesitation, eyes wide, heart almost beating out of his chest again. Why did it matter what his name is? He wasn’t sure, but it mattered. Jose laughed hard, pretending to push away tears from his eyes.

“You’re going to kill me with this, seriously!” He stopped and now he was only smiling, less humor and more enjoyment of the moment. “His name is Derek, Stiles.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like he stayed in his room and daydreamed constantly.   
> He did, however, spend every waking minute in which his brain wasn’t over-engaged, trying to recreate Derek’s face in his head, trying to imagine more of him – his behavior, or voice, or the face he made at the peak of a wave of pleasure. Like Jose noted, his sudden and powerful fascination was a little bit insane and more than a little creepy.

Stiles had the weirdest luck. He did just see the hottest man he could imagine, so that was pretty spectacular, but he also was obviously cursed because the following Tuesday he had a trip to Venice planned with his dad, who was visiting for a week, and he wouldn’t be able to see – Derek. It was so nice to think of him with a real name, with his real name. Anyway, the tickets were already bought and Stiles would have to wait two full weeks before seeing Derek again.

It’s not like he stayed in his room and daydreamed constantly. He wished he could. His schedule was filled to the brim in the week leading up to his dad coming, because he felt guilty about missing a lot of his usual appointments in the next week. This meant early mornings and late nights, running through various errands and jumping through the age groups. On Wednesday morning he had an activity with elder ladies (and a few gentlemen also), a mostly arts and crafts kind of thing over coffee. From there, he jumped home to change and went back to the teens in the English lesson, and in the next days he also had some art classes with kids, food work, and guests of his roommates to laugh with. He didn’t really stay in his room to daydream at all.

He did, however, spend every waking minute in which his brain wasn’t over-engaged, trying to recreate Derek’s face in his head, trying to imagine more of him – his behavior, or voice, or the face he made at the peak of a wave of pleasure. Like Jose noted, his sudden and powerful fascination was a little bit insane and more than a little creepy.

It was a bit of a necessity to curb that habit once his dad arrived and he didn’t want to be in a constant state of low-level arousal. He found that he could be involved in the maximum he was capable of, just a little lower than full concentration, and still keep a tiny little spot in the back of his head for Derek. Pathetic.

On Monday he even managed to get to the English class on time, leaving his dad on a walk on the outskirts of Milano, in a park, which the locals somehow admired for its four small lakes (which Stiles found severely underwhelming).

“Any news about Derek?” was a bad conversation starter but Stiles still went with it; Jose rolled his eyes, in an almost disturbingly wide arch.

“Yeah, Stiles, I have his number and his home address, do you want them?” Stiles did his best to roll his eyes in response, copying the arch. “And I’m great, thank you very much for asking. How’s your dad’s stay in Milano going?”

They fell into their routine, chatting while preparing the room with papers, game props and chairs in the right spaces. Jose’s girlfriend was supposed to come to Milano next week, so he and Stiles had been constantly exchanging “tour guide” ideas and tips and now Stiles was testing them first. Some part of Stiles really wanted to call off the Venice excursion and stay in the youth center the next day with his best shirt and very well-made hair. It’s good that there was also the rational part of him, and a little of the threats Jose threw at him just in case.

“All okay, boys?” Sylvia asked at the end of the lesson from the door, smiling sweetly. She was an awesome person and Stiles really admired her, but also he was currently very acutely aware that she had a lot of information on Derek that he wanted. He turned with a smile.

“Lesson went really well! Oh, I just wanted to remind you that my dad is in town and I can’t make it tomorrow, we’re going to travel.”

“I remember, Stiles, no problem! Have fun, where are you going?”

“Ah, you have the new volunteer tomorrow to keep the numbers up, right?” He forced a laugh, dodging her question entirely and looking at Jose with the silent plea to just roll with it. Jose just looked to the (metaphorical) skies (they were inside, so he looked at the ceiling) before taking his things and excusing himself, kissing Sylvia on the cheeks on his way out.

“We actually have three new volunteers for tomorrow. Our campaign was very successful, if that’s what you’re asking about.” She took in his questioning look for a beat. “You’re interested in the volunteering sector and how it works, right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah yeah, totally, that’s why I was asking. Um, so, the guy from last time – how did you attract him to volunteer?” Sylvia smiled wider.

“Very specifically him? He said his sister pushed him into it. She’s also a lawyer, like him.” Stiles nodded.

“Cool, sister. Um… so, is he coming back every Tuesday? Did he confirm?” She just laughed out loud at that, and turned on her heels.

“Should I send him your regards tomorrow?” She asked from her desk. Stiles felt himself blushing to his ears.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He walked into the office fast, worried. “You shouldn’t tell him anything about me, specifically, I was just asking generally. If the campaign is successful in the long run.”

“Sure, Stiles. Have fun with your dad on your trip. See you on Wednesday.”

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

_Dude he just asked about you, no joke._

Venice, in all its wonder and beauty, disappeared. The tons of tourists sadly remained and pushed onto him, while Stiles clutched his phone and reread the single message at least twenty times. His dad looked at him questioningly, since he had stopped pretty abruptly in his tracks.

“Stiles?”

“Um, uh. Just a second, it’s from work.”

_You’re joking._

_Tellmetellme_

_What did he say????_

_Word for word, man_

_Can you send me a picture?_

_Did you take a video of him asking about me???_

_Please dude that would make you the best_

_WRITE FASTER_

_TELL ME EVERYTHING_

Stiles looked around and managed to dodge an outburst of tourists, watching them intently to distract himself from the thoughts racing in his head. So many questions, so many scenarios flooded his brain, so many possibilities appearing to take up 100% of his brain. His breath was catching a little and he thought this might be the start of a panic attack but then remembered that his panic attacks felt really really really bad, and this felt actually pretty nice. What was up with him anyway? This was a guy he didn’t know, had barely seen that one time, and he was acting like the love of his life was returning from war.

The speak bubble appeared on the chat screen and a second later, Jose kept writing:

_Class is starting, I’ll tell you later!_

Just as Stiles, outraged, started writing out a very strongly worded reply, Jose continued:

_I’m kidding, don’t want to drive you actually crazy_

_He came to introduce himself_

_His name is actually Frank!_

_Jk, his name is really Derek_

_Anyway, I said I teach English_

_And he asked where my American co-teacher was_

_I laughed and said you’re in Venice_

_And he looked kind of sad instead of angry?_

_And he does look very angry all the time, srsly_

_So I said you’re there with your dad_

_And I told him you’ll be back next week_

_And that’s pretty much it_

_I mean, I also asked if he likes it here_

_And stuff_

_But that was pretty standard and boring_

_(yes, he likes it here, the kids are lovely)_

_I knew you were gonna ask_

_Dork_

Stiles had the biggest grin in the world. His face actually hurt a little bit, but he didn’t mind one bit.


	3. Chapter 3

The days kept passing without being particularly fast or slow, which annoyed Stiles. It would have made sense for them to slow down ironically so he feels every breath as torture away from the promised Tuesday. It would also make sense if time flew away, like in a movie montage before the big romantic scene. Yet here he was, it was Friday, there were exactly 4 full days until the time to hopefully meeting Derek again, and time was going as normal, he was walking with his dad towards one of his favorite pizza places (it was hard to decide with so much choice on the exact best one) and they were talking about Beacon Hills and how people from there were doing. Since he had gone to university in UCLA, he’d never been exactly far away from home – definitely never as he was now, across a whole ocean, and he had kept in touch with most of his friends from school.

Scotty was back in Beacon Hills after also graduating UCLA, working for the vet full-time now (he had spent all of his university summers in that office, and the biology degree didn’t exactly inspire him to go into research instead of into fieldwork), and he had been tasked personally by Stiles with the important mission of taking care of the Sheriff. Stiles suspected that more than Scott, his mom was doing the heavy lifting in that department, but he also knew that that was a whole can of bees he didn’t want to open with his dad.

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, mouth halfway in a question about Allison’s work trip with her dad. Derek. Was he daydreaming so hard now that he wasn’t even realizing it? Derek looked at him for a second too long before looking away and just as Stiles was trying to take a breath and realize that it was just a coincidence and Derek didn’t even remember--- Derek whipped his head back.

For the second before anything happened, while they were just looking at each other, Stiles just wondered – what are the odds that the two of them would meet in one of the busiest parts of a bristling city of more than 1.3 million people, in working hours of a working day.

“Hey!” Stiles blurted.

“Aren’t you the English teacher from the youth center?” Derek started at almost the same millisecond as Stiles’ awkward hey. His English was not only impeccable, he was definitely native, most probably an American too. Stiles wanted to be coherent and to sound intelligent and otherworldly, to impress Derek since this was basically the first impression he would make. He was trying to figure out how to best introduce himself, where to start from, how to open his mouth again.

“Yeah, he teaches English at a youth center so I’m guessing you have the right man. Stiles?” His dad interjected, all smiles and friendliness. Derek laughed a little, softening, and he turned his whole body towards Stiles and reached a hand out. Stiles reached back on instinct and his hand burned at the touch.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek.” Stiles parroted back in the same tone and then he caught a breath. “Sorry, I’m super spaced out but my head is back again. What a coincidence, I never see people I know in the city center because it’s so full of tourists!”

“Yeah, it’s sometimes difficult to find someone even when you want to. Um.” Derek looked up, and then to Stiles’ dad for a second. “You weren’t at the center on Tuesday.” Stiles could hear his blood rushing around his body and he was so sure he was red by now but this was beyond surreal – was Derek actually interested? Was he saying that he wanted to find him and he couldn’t on Tuesday? Was he maybe also looking forward to it like Stiles was?

“Yeah, I was with my dad in Venice.” He gestures to his dad. “Real shame for the kids too, Jose is a real disaster with them when he’s alone. How is the volunteering going?”

“Sorry, I’m just going to be there, I need to take this.” Stiles’ dad pointed to his (definitely not ringing) phone and made a couple of steps away, putting it to his ear. Bless his dad’s extreme awareness. How had Stiles gotten exactly none of it?

The conversation suddenly felt a hundred times more intimate. They were still in the crowded piazza and hundreds of people were walking by them, laughing, yelling over each other, the Italian commotion as alive on a Friday night as one could expect. Yet they stepped closer and the world fell away a little, Stiles forgetting even that his dad was just a step away from them and could probably hear them still. When Derek started speaking, his voice was softer. Stiles’ brain, as awake as it could ever be, started examining his features now in more detail, cataloguing the exact shades of his eyes, the curve of his lips, his oddly long eyelashes, the perfect smell coming from him.

“It’s much better than I expected in the beginning. My sister made me go because she saw I needed a change but I thought I would be useless to the children, while I actually feel like I’m being good at it. I help them mostly with application to university stuff, final exams, that kind of thing. It’s… much more personal than I imagined.” Stiles felt his chest expanding with the sweet words.

“I saw you were working with a girl the first time, did you get more kids on the second?”

“Yeah, now they’re three, all between 16 and 18.” Stiles whistled low.

“They’re really taking advantage of you, aren’t they?” He grinned as he saw that Derek was about to protest, and instead they both laughed. “I’m sure you’re a lot of help to the kids. And it’s good to hear that you like it. I had a similar experience in the beginning, but to be fair I still feel a bit useless.”

“I can’t imagine you being useless at the youth center. I’ve only been there the two times but it definitely shows when you’re not there and you’re supposed to.” Derek put a finger up to stop Stiles’ protest. Stiles wanted to step closer, take that finger and that whole hand and hold it in his. There wasn’t even a lewd fantasy behind it, he just wanted to hold Derek’s hand right now. Derek continued. “When you weren’t there, I went to talk with… uh, the other English teacher. So the kids saw me, and later one of them came to ask me if I know you and do I know that you make the best games. He seemed so happy just talking about you. It was adorable.” Stiles wasn’t sure how to contain the happiness that erupted from his chest at this observation (also he was irrationally happy that Derek didn’t even remember Jose’s name) or what to do with his hands but he felt himself leaning closer and closer to Derek. It was like a force of nature, stronger than gravity.

“Grazie.” Stiles was blushing, definitely, and probably smiling in a very stupid way, and he was way too close. Derek didn’t seem disturbed by it, though, he was wearing a small smile of his own, but it warmed his eyes to more of a green than blue. There were so many questions Stiles wanted to ask. “So, you’re from the States?” Derek nodded.

“Yep, born and raised. Moved here with my sister a couple of years ago, we have some family here. Oh!” Derek looked at his hand, worried, and his eyebrows shot up expressively. “She’s waiting for me for dinner, I was late when I saw you. I think I have to run now.”

“Yeah, of course, run!” Stiles made a shooing motion. “See you Tuesday in the center, right?”

Derek smiled, nodded and made a few steps backwards before waving to him and looking back to his dad.

“Have a good evening with your dad! See you next week!” Derek turned around and ran, something between a jog and an outright sprint. He disappeared into the crowd fast, and Stiles was left catching his breath, unblinking at the people passing by.

“So, he’s the one who’s been on your mind, huh?” His dad was calm next to his shoulder, a smile in his voice. “Seems like a nice boy. Very polite. Please tell me how you have a crush on him but he came to introduce himself? I swear you are the luckiest person I know.” His dad put a hand on his shoulder.

Really, though, what was his life? Insanely hot people were supposed to be stupid or arrogant, or something, right? Why was everything in Derek so perfect? Stiles was still trying to process.

“Dad, did you see what time it was when Derek stopped?”

“Uh, I can guess based on my phone. Why?”

“For the grandkids. Important moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, working in/for the youth center is keeping me busy and tired enough to not write as much as I want. :D

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify, I am kind of living Stiles' described life, EVS-wise. If you want to learn about the programme, it's now called European Solidarity Corps. If you have any questions, I'm more than happy to answer!  
> Also, I think it will be 4 parts overall, anddd thank you for reading!


End file.
